


Trial by Fire

by sprx77



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Ace but not aromantic character of colour, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And none of them will have parts that resolve around their queer status, Asexual Character, Bashing?, Basically going to be waving the 'pride flag round and round, Because I need the challenge of making relate-able characters who are more 3D, Because she makes brilliant points, Because the real world isn't made up of cis white heterosexual people, Canonical Character Death, Despite the temptation, Dragons, F/F, F/M, Familiars, Genderqueer Character, Goblins, I shall resist, I'm going to try hard not to do that, It's got bells on it, LGBTQ Character of Color, Literally the last person you expect, M/M, Multi, Other, Pan Character, Parselmagic, Parseltongue, Post-Order of the Phoenix, Pull the Other one, So Sirius is dead, Temptation, The Author Regrets Nothing, The Dursleys straight up abused both those kids, Thy name is Keira Marcos, Time Travel, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, What even is bashing, all around, bamf characters, so if talking about it might trigger anyone I'm throwing in this warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-03-17 19:27:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3541235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sprx77/pseuds/sprx77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry assumes the weight of a Legacy long forgotten and, with the help of an unlikely ally, conquers both time and (a truly astounding number of) Machiavellian plots to get the training and knowledge he needs to win a war.</p><p>Certain adult wizards think they have everything planned out, but Fate and Destiny aren't matters one can manipulate to their own ends. Fate is forged; her warriors rise above and beyond all-- including mundane things like expectations.</p><p>(And also Physics. The Laws of Reality and Rules of Magic were meant to be broken. Shattered. Semantics.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In the original timeline, Harry (spoiler averted) does a thing. It has consequences. Things go well for a while.  
> Things go quite well, actually. Until they don't.
> 
> Cue Xander. And plan B.
> 
> (The "B" is for Break Reality, go Back in Time, and make sure your cousin Brings his A Game this Go 'Round.)

 

> (Harry is sent off by the Order at Platform 9 3/4. The last line of the Order of the Phoenix):
> 
> Harry nodded. He somehow could not find words to tell them what it meant to him, to see them all ranged there, on his side. Instead, he smiled, raised a hand in farewell, turned around and led the way out of the station towards the sunlit street, with Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley hurrying along in his wake.  
> 

 

Harry Potter planned to spend the hour’s drive back to Little Whinging trying not to think of anything. His relatives had fallen into their usual routine of pretending he didn’t exist. They ignored him and conversed amongst themselves as though the trip to London had nothing to do with him.

Although, for all he knew, they could have picked up Dudley at the same time as he. He had no idea the yearly schedule of Smeltings. In fact, he didn’t know anything about it at all save for it’s location: Canterbury. And, of course, that his cousin attended.

His cousin, who was being rather suspiciously quiet. Harry was, naturally, as far from Dudley as the back of the cab allowed, directly behind Vernon. (Everyone, including Vernon-- especially Vernon-- preferred when Harry wasn’t in Vernon’s direct line of sight). He had just long enough to ponder reasons why Dudley might be inclined to silence when the boy in question gasped loudly, a hand flying to his neck.

Vernon nearly swerved off the road. Harry held tight, heart beating a mile a minute, as his uncle pulled over smartly. Petunia was already turned around in her seat, anxiously seeing what was the matter.

Her eyes jumped accusingly to Harry, who had only wide, helpless eyes at the spontaneous event. He’d naught to do with it; Dudley was clearly choking.

And he was closest and most able to do something about it.

“Dudley!” He yelled, throwing off the seat belt and reaching over. He heard Uncle Vernon make a strangled sound and ignored him, hoping the man wouldn’t try to stop him bodily. He immediately started pounding on his cousin’s back.

 _Expulso_ , he thought, and his fingers twitched. He couldn’t go for his wand, though. He daren’t. Underaged... But also in the middle of London. If Dudley lost consciousness, he’d do the charm. _Damn the consequences._

“Dudley, come on, after all I went through to save you from Dementors, you _cannot_ die from swallowing your own spit,” He said lowly, willing whatever was causing this to stop.

Finally-- thankfully-- his cousin raised a hand, mid-cough. Harry backed off through sheer force of habit.

“I-- sorry-- choked-- better in a-- second.” He managed to rasp out. When Harry’s hands lingered hesitantly, he took a deep breath, coughed several more times, and smiled weakly. “‘M fine. Promise.”

Harry moved back to his seat. Petunia cooed and fretted over him for a full minute, which he somewhat awkwardly endured, and Vernon sent Harry one last nasty look before turning back to the front, proper. He grumbled a bit before rejoining traffic.

Dudley’s coughs eventually stopped, although for a good several minutes he was wide-eyed with shock. His blonde hair stood in rebellious disarray and he didn’t make a single move to right it.

It was possibly the closest Dudley had _ever_ looked to his Harry and the thought was one Harry was profoundly uncomfortable with. There was no way Dudley could have _Potter_ hair; he was Lily’s nephew, and James’ only by marriage--

Harry did not often think about what things would be like if his parents had lived, both because it hurt to do so and because he knew next to nothing about them and had no memory of them to imagine with, but it was also true that he had learned more about them over the last year, had _seen them in school_ through someone else’s memory, and the very mental image of James Potter living to be the uncle to Dudley Dursley had him almost smiling. Sirius would lau--

Too late, Harry stamped down hard on the thought. He got a handful of warm, precious seconds of visualizing his godfather’s reaction were Harry to tell him about the daydream, before the pain set in. Sirius would never laugh at anything, ever again, because he was _gone_.

Normally, Harry would have been horrified by the prickling feeling at his eyes; he hadn’t cried in the Dursleys’ presence since he was in primary. As it was, he felt like a hippogriff had stomped his chest in, and it was all he could do not to scream.

The moment of Sirius’ death replayed in his mind’s eye on repeat. His throat was tight and he felt cold, miserable, angry, _alone_.

Sirius- his _godfather_ \- his parents’ best friend, the person who was always on his side no matter the situation, who was the first adult to hug him, the closest thing to family he would ever have, _who laughed and went singing Christmas carols through a big, dark house because he knew the pain of being alone and starved and left in the dark with no happy memories, who knew that friends and loved ones were the best thing in the world to have during the holidays, who said, ‘You could live with me, if you like.’ at the end of third year when he’d barely known Harry, barely met him, but loved him enough to break out of prison and face werewolves and dementors and everything else, who--_

Sirius falling through the veil, Bellatrix’ taunts, _burning_ anger, running after her, _crucio, crucio, crucio **cruci** **o**! Hurt as much as you made me hurt, HURT asmuchasyouDESERVE--_

Sirius.

The sting was more pronounced now, but Harry refused to make a sound. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and ignored the hot, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. Hermione, maybe, would have made little hiccupping gasps as she cried; Harry had mastered the art of doing it silently when he was barely toilet trained.

His relatives wouldn’t notice him falling to pieces in the backseat, and certainly wouldn’t worry over him if they did. He’d likely get jeers of disgust and yells to stop. Jaw clenched, Harry jerked his gaze to the side and looked resolutely out the window at the passing buildings of Muggle London.

The hole in his chest was ragged and new, and it ached on a level too deep for him to name. Sirius Black was dead and he was expected to sit with the Dursleys like nothing happened, like nothing had changed, stop his cousin from choking and field glares from his aunt and uncle like he had all his life.

Gone were the half-imagined daydreams of the war’s after, of living through it and having a bright future, with Remus and Sirius and their biggest worries behind them. Harry didn’t even have the comfort of pretending anymore.

\--

The ride home was short enough. No further choking incidents took place. Uncle Vernon made sure to stop at a fast-food spot and order a large drink for Dudley, just to make sure, and a meal for everyone except Harry. He barely even noticed. Harry spent a few seconds vindictively thinking that he had enough gold to buy ten restaurants, but it brought no satisfaction, and he turned his eyes to the window once more.

Vernon pulled into Number 4, Private Drive, and his family piled out of the car. Harry waited a few minutes on principle before doing the same. He lifted the lid of the boot on autopilot to remove his things.

All he had were the trunk and Hedwig’s empty cage. His owl was out hunting, having been sent earlier that day at Hogwarts before they’d even boarded the carriages. Harry had to pause.

 _Earlier today I was at Hogwarts._ Looking around at the pristine, boring row of similar houses, it was hard to believe it possible. He’d gone from the great castle and the endless forest, the spanning lake, the magic in the very air to a place that looked like a poster for dull monotony. He shook his head, recalled the Order promising to collect him ASAP, and bent over to pick up his trunk.

He yelped in surprise when the other end lifted at the same time.

Harry narrowly missed dropping the handle, right hand flying to his wand in an instant, head snapping up to look at-- Dudley, blinking at him, from the other end.

Harry abandoned the grab for his wand mid reach and rubbed at his eyes with the free hand instead.

“Er... You feeling okay, Dud?” He couldn’t help but ask.

Dudley had the strangest expression on his face.

Finally, he spoke.

“You saved my life. Least I can do is help you with your trunk.” It came out more as a huff.

Right.

“Hey, quick question. What’s the name of Aunt Marge’s favorite dog?” His voice was faint with shock even to his own ears.

Dudley snorted.

“Ripper, wasn't it? Evil beast. Tiny, but right fierce.”

So, Dudley wasn’t a Death Eater in disguise; he’d just been replaced by a pod person. Good to know. Harry was still reeling from shock.

He stayed that way the entire trip up the stairs and into his room.

And stayed that way as they set his trunk down.

And as he mechanically set up Hedwig’s cage.

He closed his eyes for a minute, thinking furiously. Polyjuice would do it, but that wasn’t the only option. A metamorphmagus? No, they were rare, and he _had_ answered the security question. Harry couldn’t fathom what had happened to his cousin to make such a drastic change.

There was no way Dudley could make that jump. From, ‘freak who deserves to be beaten daily’ to ‘you saved my life and I owe you big.’ Not even from Harry saving his life.

Harry gave up. He was emotionally worn out. The day had been long. The year had been long. The back of his hand stung sharply. The hole in his chest was festering at the edges. He wanted to lay in bed and forcibly turn his brain off.

He turned, expecting to do just that, only to find Dudley Dursley sitting on the edge of aforementioned bed. Harry couldn’t help it. He snapped.

“What the _hell_ is wrong with you?” He demanded.

And Dudley Dursley quirked up only one side of his mouth in what wasn’t quite a smile:

“First, I’m sixteen years old again. I cannot even begin to tell you how much suckage is going on right now." He gestured to his torso. "Secondly, I have a very long, very complicated conversation with my cousin to look forward to, in which I get to tell him all about the next four years and what an absolute joy they were _not_."

He looked to Harry. Harry looked back. Wide, wide green eyes stared at him.

"What."

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An explanation is given. Plans are hatched. No less than-- count them-- three emotional outbreaks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, look. I realize this is choppy. I have no beta. I'm more concerned with telling the story and getting it written than making sure it's perfect immediately upon uploading it. I'm writing this in a very nanowrimo style. The challenge is to /finish/ it. It's very much so a first draft. Hopefully I'll manage to write a boku-ton of material and go back and edit and splice things later. I need to get used to actually writing the stories I come up with and not stopping until they are complete. This has been an un-asked-for message from yours truly.

Which.

“What.”

“So I’m from four years into the future,” Dudley stated as if Harry wasn’t in the process of a mental breakdown.

“And let me tell you, little cousin, we had so much fun learning how to be family, I’m a little pissed we won’t get to do it the same way-- playing video games and learning magic with you all summer was _fun_ \-- but there’s a war to fight and no time to lose.”

“A war... Family? What?” Harry spluttered. His mind wasn’t able to _process_ so much crazy in so little words. “Wait, _little_ cousin? _You are five weeks older than me_.”

Dudley grinned at him.

“On the other hand, _you_ didn’t change much-- besides taking a level in badass-- and I already went through getting to know you. I’ll just show you the memories of the first time around when we get a spare minute.”

A level in...

“Wait, you’ll ‘show me memories’?”

“Hmm, maybe with a pensieve, even. Depends on how long it takes you to pick up your old-- er, I guess, future-- skills.”

 _Dudley knows what a pensieve is_.

Harry felt like screaming. His brain was repeating the same sentences over and over again.

Unexpectedly, Dudley adopted a sympathetic smile.

“C’mon, Jamie. You’re reacting, not acting.” A pause. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry that I can’t ease you into this. You haven’t learned how to roll with the crazy that is our lives, yet.”

Harry’s response came out strangled.

“Jamie?”

“Oh, er.” Dudley looked away. “My middle name’s Alexander, you know, and it’s loads better than Dudley and we kinda went by our middle names for a while? Jamie and Alexander Evans were brothers when Harry Potter and Dudley Dursley couldn’t be.”

Harry took a deep breath. Act, don’t react. It was like a punch to the gut. Only less painful. Just as groundshaking, though.

“No one’s ever told me that before. It’s surprisingly helpful when everything goes sideways and I’m bombarded with new information.”

“Hmm?” Dudley asked. And it was weird. He was so unlike Dudley. Harry couldn’t reconcile them as the same boy. His cousin. The bully and the git. This new _I’m from the future, I want to be your family,_ approach was just... impossible.

“Act, don’t react.” He prompted in answer, thoughts already far away. His throat tightened up. All he’d ever wanted was a family. A proper family. The little eleven year old standing before the Mirror of Erised was still a part of him and even now he _ached_ over Sirius, some corner of his mind still alternately numb or screaming.

Could he have that from _Dudley_ of all people?

Did he _want_ it from Dudley, after everything?

_‘Little cousin, we had so much fun.’_

“It’s something of your creed,” Dudley-- Alexander?-- explained. “Roll with the crazy, smile and nod, _action_ now and _understanding_ later... Plus, you’re a kinesthetic learner, cousin-mine. Lie to me and say it’s easier for you to think and plan as opposed to putting on your badass panties and electrocuting everything.”

“It’s true that I’m better at _doing something_ than trying to explain something that needs to be done,” Harry admitted, trying to find words to explain an instinct.

Alexander nodded.

“Right, so at some point you figured out the strategic advantage of striking first instead of waiting for the enemy to start things. Not that, you know, there’s not some benefit to making them show their hand first...” He grinned.

“You know me that well in the future?” Harry said, surprised. Still. Somehow.

“I did.” He confirmed easily. “Also, I just got back today... Technically. Well, long story short we did a trial run to see if it was even possible to come back. A week ago, I sort of astral travelled. I only had a few hours before I got sent right back to the future. I’m here to make sure the absolute _shit_ we had to deal with a few years from now doesn’t happen. We made mistakes the first time around, did and learned some things too late... I swore to you in the future that I’d do my absolute damnedest to see ours live through this stupid war.”

 _Why couldn’t you have come a week earlier_ , part of Harry wanted to demand. He grudgingly recognized the futility of such a question. If what Alexander said was true, he was already going above and beyond to save lives. Sirius’ death hurt more than anything he could imagine but he wouldn’t let it consume him now, wouldn’t ask why Alexander couldn’t have done _even more_.

“Who--” Harry had to clear his throat. “Who else died?”

Alexander’s expression stuttered and closed off.

“Too many.” He answered with quiet, solemn honesty. “I’m not... you don’t even know some of them yet. We’ve got years before the heavy casualties start pouring in. Things haven’t gone pear-shaped yet. We need to worry about getting _prepared_ for the bad shit.”

A beat of silence.

“When you say ‘prepared’...” Harry trailed off.

“Oh, little cousin,” Alexander said with a sudden grin. “You can’t imagine how horrified I was to get back to this body. I’m more muscle than fat right now but a strict potions regimen and the work out schedule from hell will get me set to _rights_. Last time, you led me... This time _I_ get to be the slave driver.”

 _Work out schedule from Hell_ , Harry had time to think with curiosity and a bit of trepidation-- Alexander seemed _too_ gleeful and phrases like ‘slave driver’ were quite worrisome-- before a light bulb apparently went off over his cousin’s head.

“Oh!” He said suddenly. “Today’s the twenty fourth, yeah?”

Harry nodded cautiously.

“That means we have thirteen days before your life is changed forever.”

“... If you say so.”

“Trust me. July 7th is when everything changes. It’s the day you go from being Harry Potter, Hogwarts Newt student, Boy-Who-Lived, to something so much _more_.”

 He waved off the questioning.

“No, shh, I’m not telling you. I doubt you’d believe me; it’s that incredible. Hmm... originally you waited until then to talk to the goblins, since they were all but tripping over themselves trying to ally themselves with you. But where will we stay until then? You can’t use magic with a wand, and don’t know how to do it properly _without_ one yet...”

‘Without a wand?’ Harry mouthed, too incredulous to voice anything. His jaw worked a bit but no sound came out.

“And I don’t want to start calling some strange place ‘home’ only to shift it over to the Casa or Keep two weeks later...”

“ _What_ are you talking about?” Harry finally managed, a bit cross but more flummoxed than anything.

Dudley Alexander Dursley was sitting on his bed talking about goblins and wandless magic. Dudley Alexander Dursley _from the future_ got on with him well enough to know details of the war and the intricacies of magic and magical Britain.

Harry needed... to sit.

He sat.

“Harry, I’m your first cousin. Your _maternal_ first cousin. Why did you live at Number 4 Private Drive in the first place?”

Harry blinked.

_While you can still call home the place where your mother's blood dwells, there you cannot be touched or harmed by Voldemort._

While you can still call home the place where your mother’s blood dwells...

The place where your _mother’s blood_ dwells

_Mother’s blood._

Harry’s earlier revelation slammed back into him, leaving him breathless.

“You’re Lily Potter’s _nephew_.” He announced, like it hadn’t been true for fifteen years.

“Your mother’s magical sacrifice shaped the man you are and the man you will become. It was _light_ and _righteous_ and her love for you shines bright in you every day, every time you cast. Your parents stood against the darkest wizard this world has ever known to protect you, _died_ for you; the sheer _love_ they felt for you defies imagination and it will be with you always.”

Harry was stunned into inaction.

Alexander took a deep breath. He sounded close to _tears_.

“They sacrificed themselves for you with the purest of intents-- with overflowing love and no regrets-- and then Dumbledore brought you _here_. Harry, if there’s an afterlife, Petunia and Vernon Dursley are going to the nearest thing to hell for how they treated you. I was raised to abuse you as well and the taint of that is going to follow me for the entirety of my existence. I feel like I will _never_ make up for it because-- they had _no right to treat you that way!_ If they had died and I was sent to live with you-- with James and Lily-- _she would have loved me unconditionally,_ Harry. Magic or no magic, she would have died for me _too_ ; Petunia abused and starved and neglected her son _nearly to death_ with every intent of killing him and even knowing that, if she somehow knew that, _Lily would have sheltered and loved me and died for me in an_ instant. I never met them, never knew them, can only feel the traces of them in your magic but the weight of what they did and the _honor_ \-- the second you took me into your magical house it settled on me and...”

Alexander was shaking. Harry’s eyes were stinging. The emotional overload, unexpected and obviously having been held in for a long while, was too much for him to handle.

“I- I’m sorry.” Alexander finally said. “ _Yes_ , I am Lily Potter’s nephew and I every day try to be worthy of it.”

“The protection?” Harry prompted softly.

“So long as we both call the place home, it doesn’t have to be this specific house. I carry your mother’s blood as much as Petunia and the enchantments Dumbledore wrought based on the blood connection will hold. What’s more, since I actually plan to act like a bloody decent human being-- to stand by you, my cousin, in all things-- they’ll be a helluva lot stronger.”

“I-- you don’t call her ‘mum’?” He asked and regretted it instantly. It was the first thing that came to mind but _usually_ Harry had more than a teaspoon of tact to call on.

Alexander didn’t look offended. He looked borderline disgusted and guilty and angry.

“Harry, you have to understand. Even in my original sixth year I was realizing how horrid they’d treated you-- how they’d forced _me_ to treat you. How much damage they’d done to me by giving me everything and you nothing, the sense of superiority, the thoughtless, habitual way I treated you as less than human because I learned from example.”

Harry opened his mouth to-- what? Protest? He didn’t know. Alexander cut him off.

“To say nothing of the physical abuse.” A laugh. It was not pleasant. “After the Dementors, I had to get counseling. I lost count of the times I horrified the therapist. How she covered her mouth when we spoke of my childhood. The worst part is that I didn’t _realize--_ consciously-- that I was doing anything wrong. That we were. There was no surface guilt. It was like-- like you were a Jew and we were Nazis and it was the Holocaust. What I saw with the Dementors, what I _realized_ , or started to realize... I think at least half of my weight loss is from the number of times I was physically ill over it, my behavior, my _parents’_ behavior. What they did to me, to you-- and of course I couldn’t mention the magic-- I realized that they were monsters and they’d tried-- _succeeded--_ in making me one too.”

Another bitter bark of a laugh.

“I am sorry for this, you know.” Alexander said, wiping his eye absently. “I didn’t mean to unload that on you. In the future, we’d worked it out. Lots of talks and crying and late-night confessions and healing. Being back here, though; back in the middle of it, back in _this house_... I won’t ever forgive them for what they did to us. I can’t. It’s not in me.”

“Then we shouldn’t stay here,” Harry found himself blurting.

Having it laid out like that, their situation... It hurt. He wanted to flinch away. To avoid the subject like mad. He’d become mostly cynical to his relatives’ treatment of him and never gave thought to _why_ they were like they were. He’d lost any hope of anything-- them-- changing when he was six years old.

He’d accepted it as a fact of life, the way the Dursleys treated him. It just _was_. Actually forcing himself to think about it..

“You’re damn right,” Alexander muttered. “And we’re _not_ staying here. The event that happens in 13 days is not location-specific. It was never a coincidence that it appeared before you on that day. You were _chosen_. It was fated.”

The cryptic not-hints about what was supposedly going to happen was knotting up Harry’s stomach with nerves. Talk of fate and being the chosen one for anything... He could snark and rave and rant but he doubted it would help. Plus, it had already happened. Or would. And Alexander talked about it like it was a good thing.

Nevermind that he never wanted to be ‘so much _more_ than Harry Potter’; being _merely_ Harry Potter was awful enough.

“So do you have anywhere specific in mind?”

“You have a buku ton of properties to chose from, actually. Bad news is you have to claim your titles first. I really think you should wait two weeks.”

“Titles?” Harry asked.

Alexander opened his mouth to talk, stopped, frowned and exhaled heavily.

“So _that’s_ how Neville felt when you didn’t know. I forgot that nobody told you. Which is a fucking disgrace and all kinds of illegal, be-te-dubs.”

“...Huh?”

“It’s entirely not your fault, so don’t feel bad. You’re the Heir to two Ancient and Noble families. When you claim your rings and the titles of _Lord_ Potter and Lord Black, the family magic of both lines will settle over you and accept you as head of the family.” Alexander explained kindly. “As Lord, you have full access to the family vaults-- _yes_ , what you have is a trust vault your parents set aside for your use at Hogwarts, to be re-filled with a certain amount of gold annually-- and can act with the weight of the entire family behind him. Of course, you’re the last _scion_ of House Potter and should have been raised up learning your responsibilities but Dumbledore dropped the ball on that one because he’s an asshole. You can bring people into the family, cast people out, declare feuds, and you have seats on the Wizengamot. The title of Lord of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter actually has a really cool extra surprise with the title that you’re going to _love_.”

Harry’s head only spun a little this time.

“They-- they expect me to be a _Lord?_ ” He ignored the connotation.

“Oh yes, you have responsibilities. It’d be like slapping your father in the face if you rejected the magic of your family and the legacy he and his fathers built for you.”

Harry flinched back.

“But-- _Lord_. I don’t want to be _anyone’s_ Lord.” He protested.

“It’s a title. You’re _nobility_. In the muggle and magical world, by the way. You’re a peer of the realm. It’s entirely illegal and immoral that you grew up ignorant of this, through no fault of your own. Also, as the last living member of the House of Potter, the ministry can seize your vaults, properties, and titles if you don’t put on the ring. The Black title will likely go to Draco Malfoy as he’s the closest male heir.”

Harry’s spine straightened. “No.”

“Yeah, thought so.” Alexander said. “He gets better, if you’ll believe it. Because you didn’t know about your heritage, you kind of mortally insulted him when you were eleven. Since then it’s been terrible, immature squabbling. He _can_ make a good ally if you burn that bridge, though. Prejudiced as hell because of how he was raised but mostly he personally doesn’t like you, Hermione and Ron because he really wanted to be your friend when you were little.”

“That..”

“Too unbelievable?” Alexander teased.

“He’s a git! His father’s a death eater!” Harry whisper-yelled.

“Sirius’ brother Regulus was a death eater,” Alexander pointed out.

The finger Harry had been pointing accusingly fell.

He struggled to accept what was anathema to him. But...

They were in a _war_. Malfoy wasn’t his worst enemy by a long shot. What did a schoolyard rivalry have against--

flashes of memory rather than his name: _speak to me, slytherin, greatest of the...._

Phantom pain in his whole body, he was tied to a grave marker as a monster rose from the cauldron, _kill the spare_ , **crucio...**

_Not Harry no please not Harry take me instead not harry please no--_

Harry jerked _bodily_ away from his own thoughts.

“That’s a bridge that can be burned?” He asked quietly.

“He’s a drama queen. Loves his clothes. Makes _you_ laugh. When he grows out of being a jealous little boy, he carries himself like a completely different person. Confident, subtly insulting, wry and sarcastic in a very entertaining way. He’s great at potions. I’m trying not to ruin the possible-future with spoilers, but you two complement each other to an untold degree.”

“We can _stand_ each other?” Allies he could understand-- a greater cause-- but friends?

“Again, I’ll show you a-- you know what? Look at me.” Harry was-- they were sitting on his bed together in the dying sunlight-- but now he met blue eyes steadily. Dudley wasn’t a wizard and couldn’t possibly use anything like legilimency, so--

Harry wasn’t aware of either of their eyes falling closed. Something brushed across his mind and he stiffened, but it didn’t go further. Slowly, he relaxed and let Alexander _show_ him.

It wasn’t like a pensieve. Not exactly. Closer to the way your mind drifts off just before sleep, when you’re on the cusp of waking and dreaming and it’s is so vivid you can _see_ what you’re imagining... get caught up in it...

The edges were a little blurry, but not by much, and he was seeing it from Alexander’s eyes.

_They were in an unfamiliar room with unfamiliar upholstery-- to Harry-- but Dudley only recalled being at home and content. Draco Malfoy plopped onto the couch in front of them. His hair was longer, no product slicking it back, and his features looked softer. He was eighteen, maybe. And wearing muggle jeans._

_He stretched out languidly-- they snorted-- and lay his head on the arm rest._

_“Oy!” A voice called and Harry was surprised to register it as his own. “Malfoy, off my spot. I got up for two ticks to get some food-- which I deserve, by the way, with how hard I’ve been working.”_

_One eye opened leisurely. Malfoy’s lips quirked up on one side._

_“ I don’t see your name on it,” The blonde pointed out with a haughty-- Alexander felt_ amusement. Mock-haughty?-- _tone._

_Future Harry sputtered. “It’s my goddamn castle, wanker.”_

_Finally, they turned and Potter came into view._ Harry’s _jaw almost dropped in surprise. He was older. Older and looking_ incredibly _different. He was taller and broader about the shoulders, yes, but his hair was softer-looking. His ears were different. His cheek bones looked more prominent. He had a few scars and carried himself with confidence, radiating it. His eyes were greener, bigger somehow, maybe a different angle?_

_Future-Harry snorted and carried his loaded plate in one hand, soda in the other. He maneuvered his way easily, gracefully (in a way that Harry could only achieve in battle or in the air) between furniture until he could nudge Malfoy’s feet off one end of the couch._

_Malfoy groaned._

_Potter grinned._

_“Aw, Dragon, don’t be like that.” He teased lightly, taking a bite of a sandwich. “Look, I’ve got enough to share. When’s the last time you ate?”_

_“What is food? What is this eating you speak of? I know only potions and cauldrons and stirring. Merlin, I can’t feel my right arm.”_

_“You think he’d be a bit used to that,” They-- Xander-- said humorously. He made an unmistakable gesture._

_“Excuse you? As if I_ ever _had to resort to my hand with these looks,” Malfoy declared pompously. Potter laughed outright._

 _“Pretty, pretty Dragon always had a little snake in the dorms willing to_ Slither-in _his bed at night?”_

_Both Xander and Malfoy made pained noises._

_“Potter, you didn’t.” Malfoy lamented._

_“What? That was great! Oh, and it’s Potter now, is it?”_

_“Keep making puns like that and it’ll_ stay _Potter_ ,” _The blonde muttered, covering his eyes with a hand. “Forever.”_

The memory slowly faded to black with the three of them making bantering small talk, laced with snark.

 

Harry pulled away from the memory with a shuddery inhale. He and Alexander had evidently leaned their foreheads together at one point and he pulled away from that contact, too.

He attempted to just ignore the emotional turmoil he felt at just having witnessed the future. His future. With a playful and openly casual Draco Malfoy.

“Was I wearing _leather pants_?” He asked his cousin.

Who laughed outright.

“I forget there was a time when you _didn’t_ wear dragon-hide around everywhere. I mentioned you took a level in badass, right? Because I wasn’t exaggerating. This year we’re going to learn how to defend ourselves and take things to a whole new level. It’s going to be hard as hell but worth every drop of blood, sweat and tears.”

“I looked completely different than I do right now.” Harry said uncertainly.

Alexander shrugged.

“That’s years into the future. You’d gone through some intense physical training and at least three life changing events that boosted your confidence to all new levels and, most importantly... I think your ‘give a fuck’ broke somewhere around the time you claimed your titles.” At Harry’s incredulous look, he grinned.

“Like, seriously, dude. You had no fucks left to give for anyone. Either they could get on _your_ side of the war or fuck right off. You made it quite clear to everyone what kind of shit you would and wouldn’t tolerate.”

“You curse _a lot_.” Harry said weakly, imagining a world where he could tell of everyone who annoyed him. Wouldn’t that be bad? There had to be _some_ consequences. Of course, in the middle of the war... and if they pushed him too far... Harry briefly imagined a scenario in which everyone he knew acted as uselessly as the ministry in the upcoming conflicts, expecting a savior, lecturing him every time he did something they didn’t approve of...

Yes, he felt the familiar undercurrent of indignation, of the tight-roped fury that came with being told he was wrong or a liar or an attention-seeking little boy... and, dismissing the anger, he imagined being pushed to the point where he did as he pleased and acted without the compulsion to please _anyone_.

It didn’t _quite_ match up with the version of him from Alexander’s memory, but-- it was closer than he was now. _A few life changing events, huh...?_

“That’s entirely _your_ fault,” Alexander protested. “They didn’t tell you about your titles, tried to keep you in the dark, left you here with abusive muggles, expected you to fight a war with no training and no information about the Order’s efforts-- your Give A Fuck broke and Hurricane Harry Potter had a Potty Mouth. I think you more than once said something to Molly Weasley that caught her hair on fire.”

“I cursed in front of _Mrs. Weasley!?_ ” Harry demanded, aghast. “I love Mrs. Weasley!”

“Yes, except she treated you like a child, undermined your ability to lead, and protested your even being involved in the war. Coddling has a time and a place.”

Harry still couldn’t quite imagine it, though he could almost imagine the _circumstance_... And yeah, if they _kept_ all that from him and he didn’t _know_ about it, he could see getting upset. But snapping altogether? It would take a _lot_.

“How do we get one of my houses without going to Gringotts?” Harry wondered, laying back. His mind was swirling with all the knowledge he’d been gifted in the last hour-- hours? How late was it?-- and the implications.

He couldn’t really grasp all of the implications.

However, it was evident enough that this changed _everything._

Which was, of course, the entire point.

Harry turned to look at Alexander, at Dudley-who-preferred-Alexander, as he spoke. And spoke.

And slowly, Harry started to see the merit of his (most recent) (and, for the record, _completely_ insane) plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Set Molly Weasley's hair on fire" is a shout out to my Queen, Keira Marcos, (paraphrased, of course). In the first book of her War Mages Trilogy (which is golden, as all her works are), Sirius says something to the effect of, "better.... before Molly Weasley wanders down here and sees something that sets her hair on fire." Brilliant line. Stuck with me. So to all of you who recognized it. Also if you haven't ready anything by Keira Marcos, you have missed out. She's a goddess.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonus scene that didn't quite fit with the atmosphere:  
> "What about Peter?"  
> "Peter's a disgrace. Fuck Peter."
> 
> And yes, I had this planned from the get-go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shameless canon-bending. Only the Avatar, master of all four elements of awesome writing, can-- Nah. I'm not even going to go there. Queen Keira is the Avatar. (Smut. Canon-bending. Sassy Dialogue. Magical headcanons. These are the four elements of Awesome Writing. See Queen Keira's works for examples.)

Alexander and Harry catch the Knight Bus.

For all intents and purposes, Dudley was out with friends and Harry was staying outside and out of his aunt and uncle’s hair.

“Borough of Islington, London. Grimmauld Place.” Alexander said as they stepped on. He passed over a handful of gold. The conductor-- _not_ Stan Shunpike-- took it with a smile.

“We’ve only got a few on this time-a-day, you’re in luck. You’ll be dropped off before we take this lot to the Leaky Cauldron, sirs.”

They nodded and took seats.

Harry, despite the two of them having gone over this the day before, was suddenly filled with the urge to ask more questions. The ‘Bus shot round corners at speed with nary a pause. Alexander didn’t look as green about the edges as Harry expected.

Harry’s stomach only jerked at the very sharp maneuvers, and only then because he was in a big, metal tin can with a lot of momentum. He’d be a piss poor seeker if motion sickness bothered him.

Alexander grinned.

“I cannot _wait_ to start getting in weird arse situations with you again. You’re uninitiated. It’s kind of great to see surprise as one of your expressions.” He rocked in his seat. “Eventually you’ll be so nonplussed about everything that it’s not even fun when Cthulhu come.”

London was racing by in the windows. The only other passengers-- three or four dotted throughout the bus-- weren’t close enough to pay much attention to what they were saying. Harry fought a full body twitch.

“Cthulhu?” He asked. If the Big Event in twelve days was in any way related to Eldritch Abominations, then the entire magical world could just fuck right off. He had to think Hermione would be right behind him in evacuating.

His cousin chuckled.

“There was an incident.” And he said nothing more. Harry, exasperated, was torn between wanting to know and wanting to forget the entire mention of it.

Moments later, the bus jerked to a stop.

Harry and Alexander stood and got off the bus. They waited until it was out of sight before approaching the right building.

“Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix,” Alexander murmured.

Harry’s heart clenched at the sight of the grim old place. It was, yes, the Headquarters. But more than that it was Sirius’ _home_. If he’d been alone he probably would have turned around rather than face the memories just being there would bring to the forefront.

He wasn’t ready. Wasn’t done... grieving.

“Come on,” Alexander urged quietly and yes, the last thing they needed was to be standing around here for very long. Harry steeled himself and nodded.

They climbed the steps, Harry first, and the door to Number 12 opened easily. Harry had expected more fanfare.

“So, I’m not going to warn you-- that would defeat the entire purpose of keeping it a secret-- but I’m going to need you to inhale now.”

“What?” It seemed to be his new favorite phrase with respect to his cousin. The ignorance was getting old.

“Breathe!” Alexander yelled, and Harry was shocked into obeying. His lungs expanded just as his cousin grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him bodily around.

And Harry’s heart stopped.

Dark hair falling into grey eyes. Not yet forty, but eyes old enough to suggest otherwise. Scraggly stubble.

“Son of a bitch,” He managed before his legs gave out on him.

Sirius caught him before he hit the ground. The older man seized him under the arms and yanked him into a fierce hug.

“Harry,” He rasped, and they were both shaking.

“Daddy.” Harry’s voice was small. Magic danced along his skin and erupted outward, surrounding them both.

“I wondered if you remembered,” Sirius managed, sounding so relieved and happy even with the broken voice.

“You’re-- is it my magic? Why do I see you as my dad? Not that-- that you haven’t been the closest-- and I mean... Daddy?”

“Oh pup,” Sirius sighed, getting in another squeeze before pulling back to look at him. “I’m your godfather. I guess nobody ever thought to tell you what that means in the magical world.”

“His magical education is _appalling._ It’s such a bad idea, to let him go on not knowing any more than he currently does, that I _literally came back from the future_ to stop you.” Alexander put in, not even joking a little bit.

“Wait, what? No, I’m aware that you’re from the future, but what do you mean about his magical education being _‘appalling’?”_ Sirius demanded. He didn’t let go of Harry’s shoulders, which Harry should probably feel guilty about. But no part of him wanted to leave Sirius’ personal space right now.

It was... a need. He should probably be concerned about that.

“You fucktards let Hagrid-- who is great, love Hagrid, he’s fabulous-- tell him, ‘Yer a wizard Harry,’ when he was eleven and then tossed him into Hogwarts. He didn’t even know how to get on the damned train. I told him _last night_ about his titles and it was the first he’d ever heard of them.”

Sirius paled dramatically.

“Harry,” He started, sounding strangled. “Please tell me he’s kidding.”

Harry said nothing.

Alexander sighed.

“I don’t think he can talk right now. He’s not-- you _know_ how powerful his magic is and he’s never even thought of it as a legitimate part of him. In the future he told me all he knew about magic was that he ‘had it’ and waving a wand while saying Latin-ish words made it work.”

Sirius made a sound resembling that of a dying whale.

Harry felt he should be defending himself.

“This is probably the first time he’s consciously manifested his magic, and it was to instinctually reconnect with his _Lord_ , who he thought was dead. Fix it.”

Sirius huffed before turning back to Harry. His hand moved from his shoulder to his cheek. Harry could do no more than move his eyes to meet his godfather’s.

“Harry James Potter, son of my heart and magic, I _live_. You are Potter heir and Black heir and as your Patriarch, I’m telling you to rein in your magic.”

Harry started to protest-- he didn’t know _how_ \-- but of course his mouth didn’t work...

... And then it did.

The current that had been flowing through him and the impressive aura died down.

Sirius smiled.

“Okay, Bambi. Now let’s explain some things.”

 _Bambi_. Son of Prongs. Baby deer.

“How long have you been waiting to use that one?” He managed to croak.

Sirius’ eyes crinkled with his shit-eating grin.

“Oh, seriously. Almost as soon as I thought about your patronus without Dementors being in the immediate vicinity.”

“On Buckbeak’s back, then?”

“Got it in one.”

“Sirius?”

“Yes, Prongslet?”

“How in seven Hells are you alive?”

Alexander coughed.

“Yeah, that would be me.” Right. His time-travelling cousin. “I told you I came back a week ago just to make sure the spell worked. Well... about as soon as I realized what day it was, I used that two-hour time span to leave Smeltings, get to the Ministry by _any means necessary_ , and set up a glamour just in time to make it _look_ like this idiot fell through the veil-- as he _was in the goddamn original timeline_ , mind-- and transport us to this crypt.”

“He drained a fair-fucking-lot of my magic doing it, too.” Sirius put in helpfully.

“And you’d better not be complaining. I had approximately five minutes to give an _extremely_ rushed synopsis-- I solemnly swear I’m from the future, etc, etc.-- and warn him to _stay in this fucking house_ , preferably with the wards locked down, until I got back.”

He huffed as Harry barrelled into him.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” He muttered into his cousin’s neck.

Tears fell freely.

Alexander hugged him back just as fiercely.

“I came back in time to stop a lot of bad shit. I never expected to save your godfather-- things were so terrible that we never even thought we could. His death was the _least_ of our concerns, it happened so far back from when the real war casualties picked up. But I am so, so glad to let you have this, little cousin. You have no idea.”

“This makes it worth it,” Harry gasped. “No matter what else you change. It can go fuck-all sideways but you gave me back my dad and it’s worth it, it’s worth it, thank you.”

“Dad?” Alexander asked above his head.

Sirius tried to grimace but couldn’t stop smiling.

“I’m his third magical parent. Ja...” He had to swallow and force it out. “James and Lily named me his godfather. Magically, I’m his _dad_. By blood and magic, he’s my child.”

“You son of a bitch. We had no idea in the future.”

“I expected to have a chance to sit down and _tell_ him,” Sirius huffed. “Or at least, talk to him about it. I thought he knew.”

“Raised by muggles. Yer a wizard. Here’s a wand. Then Hogwarts core classes with no intro-to-the-magical-world, no library books, no letter from Gringott’s telling him he’s Heir to any families. _He thinks his trust vault is all he gets and doesn’t know about any titles._ ”

Alexander took a deep breath and glared at Sirius, whose jaw was on the ground. He looked properly horrified.

“That said, what I saw of you in his memories and what he could bring himself to tell me about you made me really want to meet you. I’m glad I get the chance, if I can’t meet Aunt Lily and Uncle James. Hi.”

“Call me Uncle Sirius. Or, y’know, Padfoot.”

“Harry’s animagus badassery kicks your form’s ass, just so you know.” Alexander grinned.

“What?” Sirius demanded, brows drawn. “I’m a Grim! A magical creature!”

“And his dad was a White Stag!” He tacked on for good measure.

“Harry wins.” The blonde countered.

“Harry can hear you.” The brunette grumbled. His eyes were still wet-- and so were Sirius’, to be quite honest-- but it felt entirely too easy to be amused by the conversation. And so, so good to laugh with his godfather. Father.

When he never thought he’d have the chance to again.

“You’re my dad?” He asked quietly. Cursing himself. But still so quiet and soft.

“Oh, kid. In all the ways that matter.” And he stepped forward to hug them _both_.

 Harry felt floaty and, basically, like he was dreaming. Except he hadn’t dreamed of having a family since he was tiny and living in a cupboard. There was a shining moment at the end of third year, but it had gone just as fast.

Something was thrumming beneath his skin, like home and magic, and it felt _fierce_ in him. Alexander had dropped into his life _apropos nothing_ and gave him the thing he wanted most in the world.

And may all the gods have mercy on whoever tried to take this family from him, because he had no fucks left to give them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sirius lives! I regret nothing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You are remarkably calm about that,” Harry couldn’t help but note. He was proud of how he kept his tone reasonable and strictly observing. It was almost as if he wasn’t screaming on the inside.
> 
> “I told you, after a few years of this shite, you start rolling with the crazy. Become one with the crazy. I learned it from you, actually. Have I mentioned that I really can’t wait until you know more than me, again? You’re so much better when you’re in charge than I am. I’m a secondary character, I promise. A member only along with the party for comedic relief and occasional badassery. Support character.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having a lot of fun with this. Apologies in advance for spelling errors; there is no beta or anyone to proof read. To those of you in the fandom who recognize the Language, just wait! I should add that fandom to the fandom list, and I will when something else happens, but I don't want to spoil anything yet.

“So there are levels?” Harry asked. He learned quickly that it was better form just to ask if he had a question instead of wallowing in ignorance until he-- maybe-- had a chance to look it up later. Contrary to popular belief, he wasn’t _stupid_.

Just used to underperforming.

There’s no way he’d be able to keep up with Hermione as well as he did in practicals without knowing a good bit of the theory.

Alexander and Sirius didn’t leave him much choice about it.

“The levels are witch/wizard, sorcerer/sorceress, warlock/enchantress, mage, archmage. Magi tend to come in pairs and it’s a requirement for archmagus, though they are rare and come around maybe once every few hundred years.” Sirius explained.

“How do you measure magic?”

A frown.

“Well there are a few illegal ways and a couple legal ways, though it changes throughout a magical person’s life. Before they hit their magical maturation, for example--”

“What’s that?”

“... Dumbledore has a lot of explaining to do.”

Sirius and Harry spent the rest of the morning in the library while Alexander left close to noon to make lunch.

“Harry!” The blonde called, sounding more exasperated than alarmed. Sirius and Harry exchanged looks.

“Well, I think that means it’s time for a break.” Sirius announced.

Harry stood and stretched. Magical Theory 101 was kicking his _ass_. Also, his cousin was a bad influence.

“What could he have possibly gotten into in twenty minutes?” The younger man asked.

Sirius snorted.

“In this house?” Harry’s expression fell and his eyes widened.

They made haste from the library down to the basement.

“Alexander?” Harry called, worried.

“First of all: it’s ‘Xander, thanks. Second of all, what’s wrong with your house elf?” They found an irritated Alexander-- Xander, apparently-- standing before an even more irritated creature.

“Muggle!” He muttered savagely, and other insults.

“That’s Kreacher,” Sirius said, scowling. Harry grabbed his arm, pale faced, remembered shattering most of Dumbledore’s office as the _infuriating_ old man... He relaxed pointedly.

“He’s been mistreated. Think of how your family treated me, complete with the cupboard for a bedroom and being kicked down the stairs a few times too often.”

He ignored Sirius’ sharp intake of breath.

Xander’s expression noticeably softened.

“Oh, I remember. Kreacher went through a lot during the War.” He apparently did remember as he knelt before the elf, ignoring his flinch and disgusted expression. Evidently, muggle was even worse than mudblood.

“Kreacher, I’m from the future.” Harry didn’t think that was a good idea, especially as the elf had been known to betray information, but he trusted his cousin. “And I’m not just a muggle.”

He leaned back on his haunches and held out a hand.

Xander made sure he had reluctant eye contact before, with an air of great drama, inhaled slowly and incanted:

“ **Brisingr.** ”

Fire appeared in Xander’s hand, but noticing it was secondary to the way Harry’s world spun. His knees went weak and no timely intervention saved him from falling on his ass.

 _Magic_ swept through him, powerful and un-ignorable and indeniable. It was _wild_ and ancient and forever. Primordial.

That word didn’t mean _fire_. There were probably a thousand charms like _incendio_ that could make something ignite. That _word_ somehow encompassed... _all_ of fire. Fire as a concept. The existence of fire itself. Every instance of fire condensed into one word spoken in one moment by his cousin who was _apparently not a muggle._

“Did you just use a _word of power_!?” Sirius nearly screeched. He had one hand clutching at his heart and was panting.

“It’s the only way I know how to cast magic. Technically I’m a squib,” Xander explained. As though that made it better. Sirius looked close to hyperventilating.

“Only the most powerful of mages can maybe learn a handful of Words in their lifetime, because they are _Words_ , that control every aspect of something that exists, a True Name in the language of all magic... And ‘technically I’m a squib’, he says.” Sirius barked out harsh laughter. “Un-fucking-believable. Any doubts I had about you being from the future just went out the window, kid.”

“I mean, I know the Ancient Language kicks ass, and it’s impossible to lie when speaking it, and yes to call _Fire_ you have to know Fire’s true name...” Xander looked like he didn’t even know where he was going with this.

“Don’t try to justify it. Finish talking to Kreacher like you didn’t just break my understanding of the world.”

Xander shrugged, turning back to the elf, who was all wide-eyed and amazed.

“Shur’tugal?” He asked, and Harry had to stand to catch Sirius.

“Not... anymore. Or not yet, I should say. I’m from the future, Kreacher, and I know the burden you carry. My cousin Harry-- who _will_ be Shur’tugal in less than two weeks-- destroyed it in the future. I can destroy it now, if you let me. Master Regulus’ last order can be carried out.”

“Kreacher is a bad elf!” Kreacher exploded, real tears joining the fray. “Kreacher tried and tried and tried to obey Master Regulus, to destroy it, but Kreacher couldn’t! Kreacher tries and punishes himself and tries again but nothing is being working!”

He yanked the amulet Harry-- after a moment’s thought-- placed as the one they’d thrown out earlier that year, from within his tea-towel and Xander took it from him with careful motions.

“And Kreacher failed, but Shur’tugal come, come just for Kreacher, and the great magic they use, and the old and ancient magic can destroy the locket, Master, please!”

“Kreacher, this locket is an abomination. It’s one of the anchors tying Voldemort’s soul to this world and Regulus knew it had to be destroyed. He trusted you to make sure it happened and now you succeeded. You know what I am?”

“Shur’tugal, Argetlam, Master,” Babbled the sobbing elf.

“That’s right. And destroying things like this is my job. Well, really, destroying things like this is my cousin Harry’s job, and it’s really weird to be in charge, but I’m more than capable of getting the job done. You let me take care of this and worry about maybe getting some lunch for us while we work, okay?”

Kreacher nodded.

Xander patted him on the back and he didn’t flinch.

“Whenever you feel up to it.”

And he stood, gesturing to a shell-shocked Sirius and Harry to leave the room. They dumbly complied.

They made it to the library again before anyone spoke.

Xander was holding the locket with an air of distaste.

“Are you holding a goddamn Horcrux?” Sirius asked in a deceptively calm tone.

“Bitch I might be.” Everyone blinked.

“I mean, yeah. It’s a Horcrux. Voldemort made several.”

Sirius swore loudly and colourfully.

“Huh.” Said Xander. “I’ll have to remember that. It was a new one.”

“Sirius, don’t encourage him. Also, someone should tell me what a Horcrux is. Did you say it was _tethering_ Voldemort’s soul to this world?” Harry couldn’t even imagine how that worked.

“Yep!” Xander popped his lips on the ‘p’. “Sick bastard split his soul so that whenever he died, a piece would always keep him here. We can’t kill him without destroying all the tethers.”

“You are remarkably calm about that,” Harry couldn’t help but note. He was proud of how he kept his tone reasonable and strictly observing. It was almost as if he wasn’t screaming on the inside.

“I told you, after a few years of this shite, you start rolling with the crazy. Become one with the crazy. I learned it from you, actually. Have I mentioned that I really can’t wait until you know more than me, again? You’re so much better when you’re in charge than I am. I’m a secondary character, I promise. A member only along with the party for comedic relief and occasional badassery. Support character.”

“Xander? Are you okay?” Harry couldn’t help but ask.

“No, I’m babbling a little. I want to destroy this but I don’t know as much of the ancient language as you do. Did. Some things weren’t meant to be passed on to me yet and the twelve words of instant death were on that list. The Sword of Gryffindor can kill this thing, but you might need your titles to call it, and you haven’t claimed them yet and shouldn’t until two weeks from now. I don’t know what to do with it until then.”

“Let’s put it in a box and not look at it for two weeks.” Sirius suggested, mind whirling at the thought of the Blackest of Magics in his house. He backtracked.

“And what was that about Regulus?”

“Your little brother was a Death Eater until like, his first real meeting. He then worked from the inside out to kill Voldemort, figured out about the Horcruxes, and stole this one--” Xander raised the locket, “-- before replacing it with a fake. Unfortunately, replacing it was long process that involved drinking a potion that made him see his worst fears and memories on repeat. He managed to do it, but got pulled underwater by a lakeful-- and I mean a literal lakeful-- of inferi. That’s how he died.”

Sirius blanched.

“You’re serious.”

There wasn’t even a joke made about his given name.

“My little brother went out a hero?” Sirius asked, quiet and stunned. He sat down heavily one of the library’s chairs.

“Your little brother told Tom Riddle to kiss his arse and outsmarted him with a half-mad house elf.” Xander said, sounding rather proud.

Sirius, Harry noted, had tears in his eyes. And it had to be.. hard.. thinking one’s little brother was a Death Eater. A little brother who Sirius had, presumably, been a proper big brother to before being sorted into different houses and fighting on opposite sides of a war.

“I’m not... I always thought...” Sirius waved his wand and a bottle of firewhiskey zoomed out of some nook or cranny. He poured himself a few fingers into a transfigured glass and tossed it back.

“Okay.” He said simply, recorking the bottle.

Harry had to blink away the sting in his eyes as he imagined a slightly smaller version of Sirius dressed in green-and-silver, realizing on his own that Tom Riddle was sick and wrong, and doing all he could to stop him.

He must have felt so alone.

Harry very carefully doesn’t say that part aloud.

“So, for the record, you know where all these tethers are?” Asked Harry instead.

Xander grimaced.

“Most of them. The tethers aren’t really the problem. Problem is, about two years from now, asshat decides to open a Gate to Hell. Demons poor out, things literally go to Hell, we manage but we don’t manage _well enough_ and... it gets nasty. Let’s just avoid that this time around.”

Sirius was eyeing the bottle of firewhiskey again.

“That’s actually the biggest spoiler I’ve got. Besides what happens twelve days from now, Harry. It’s the big bad thing I’m trying to avoid by coming back here. I figure I should say it now and just get it out of the way. Unlike some people, I’m upfront about this. I’m not going to hoard the knowledge and try to manipulate everyone into making the perfect decisions to get outcome a or b or whatever. This isn’t chess.”

“Also, the more I tell you guys about the future, the less likely you are to make that face of penultimate shock.”

“The one you’re making right now, actually.”

Harry got his jaw working fast enough.

“Is that your last bombshell?” He asked weakly.

Xander snorted.

“Probably not by your standards, but it is the biggest. Eventually we’ll have filled in all the details and I can stop being in charge because of my future know-how. Hopefully soon. We do need to keep this knowledge out of the hands of the general populous slash Order of the Phoenix’ hands. Too many people knowing can change events to the point where our foreknowledge is useless.”

Harry looked to his godfather.

“Rolling with the crazy, huh?” He offered.

Sirius shook his head.

“I don’t think we have a choice.”

“Great!” Said Xander cheerfully, dropping the Black magic piece of Voldemort’s soul onto the end table like it was-- well, like it’s hot. “It’s a lot funner when you roll and other’s don’t know enough to. Much better in general on the side that gets to look like unfazed badasses when shit gets real.”

Kreacher popped into the middle of the room then, still dressed in his tea-towel/loincloth ensemble. Harry was impressed, because it had only been ten minutes. Maybe fifteen.

“Dinner is ready, masters.” The elf declared before popping away.

Sirius looked floored all over again. Harry grinned at his godfather’s _face_.

“Much funner when you roll,” He told his cousin.

Xander held out his fist and Harry bumped it gamely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course, it's not hard to guess. This is kind of a rough draft. It's 3am. Edits to be made later.  
> Comments are appreciated.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Xander can't keep going back and forth from Private Drive to Grimmauld Place; they need to find a way to deal with the Dursleys.
> 
> Harry has an unfortunate realization about what he would have lost, beyond a godfather, if Sirius really had died.

“Lily was phenomenal at potions,” Sirius commented over his shoulder. Harry kept stirring, counting carefully. He tried to continue as though the random mention of his mother didn’t hit him like a suckerpunch.

“Was she?” He asked, looking over at the next set of directions.

“You didn’t know?”

“I know she was good at charms, and that my dad was good at transfiguration, but only because Olivander told me about their wands when I got mine.”

He could, point of fact, count the number of things he knew about his parents—other than the details of their demise—on one hand. Each new tidbit he gathered was precious.

“McGonnagal never told you more about them? Flitwick? Hagrid?” Sirius seemed surprised.

“Hagrid gave me a photo album of them at the end of my first year. It was the first time I’d ever seen pictures of them.”

“You never saw any growing up?”

Harry scoffed.

“Yeah, no. My aunt and uncle told me they were good-for-nothing drunks who died in a car-crash. For most of my life, I didn’t even know their names. I found out my mum had green eyes when Hagrid told mine matched.”

After several seconds passed without a response, Harry looked up.

His godfather looked enraged.

His throat worked like he wanted to speak but couldn’t.

“Your mum and dad loved you more than magic itself.” He finally said. “I don’t—it’s not—Harry, they _died for you_. And I know you know that, everyone knows that, but to let you grow up ignorant of that act of love—the most selfless act of _ultimate_ love—to even think of you not knowing James and Lily Potters’ names is base and unforgivable. To know that they died for you and still _tell you that a car crash_ —“ Sirius cut himself off viciously.

“My parents are going to hell.” Xander said succinctly, stepping into the room with a grimace. “This morning they yelled at Harry for being a useless waste of space and praised me for something or another. Going back there knowing what I know about them is awful.”

It was only the third day of their arrangement. Harry and his blonde cousin would spend the day at Grimmauld Place and venture back at dusk, only to take the Knight Bus right back to London in the morning.

“They won’t care where Harry goes, but you have to show up every night or they’ll panic?” Sirius summarized. He had a cold glint in his eyes. Harry tended to the next step of the potion.

“Pretty much.”

“Obliviate them.”

Harry’s head snapped up.

“I don’t know a spell for it. Can you do it for me?”

“Wait, you want to _obliviate_ them? So that they don’t wonder where you are?” Harry demanded.

“No.” Xander said shortly. “I want to take their memories of ever having a son. Or a nephew. And preferably plant the suggestion that they move far, far away and never come back.”

“Arabella Fig lives in your neighborhood and reports to Dumbledore,” Sirius said regretfully. “He’d notice the moment they left.”

And that—

 _“Miss Fig is a witch_?!” Harry near shouted.

“She’s a squib.” Sirius corrected.

“I spent evenings at her house when the Dursleys went on trips. She fed me stale cake and had too many cats. You’re telling me she knew who I was the _entire_ time?”

Xander had blanched.

“If she knew we beat you, starved you, and kept you in a cupboard—if Dumbledore knew and _left you_ —“ He let the threat hang off.

Sirius looked ready to commit murder.

“Every new thing you bring up about Dumbledore or what he may have done makes me want to have him assassinated. I trusted him for _years_ , blindly. I know he’s a great wizard and did a lot of great things, but there is _no excuse_ for letting a little boy be abused.” He leaned against the wall and ran his hands through his hair. “None. He claims to be the good guy, the paragon of the light, the right side—I just don’t know how anyone can fight on a side that allows such evil to exist and do nothing.”

Harry added two more ingredients to his cauldron, stirred thrice, and waited for a colour change before removing the whole thing from the fire.

“Is there a charm to make a countdown timer appear or something, so I know when it’s done?”

Sirius gestured to him.

“Alarm spell. Can wake you up in the mornings, too. Shocks you a little when time’s up.”

“Big shock?”

“Like a muggle hand-buzzer.” Sirius laughed. “How long does the potion need to sit?”

“Ten minutes.”

He cast. “ _Perculsius.”_

Harry felt a tingling settle over him and fade away. Huh. Neat. A time-bound spell that lay dormant when first cast and acted later.

“Did you say the full incantation just now?” Harry asked. The ramifications of such a thing were interesting.

“Hm?” Sirius paused to think about it. “Well, not technically. You _can_ have more of an incantation if you want something specific to happen and aren’t in a hurry. Another part of _magical theory—“_ He ignored Harry’s groan, “—is learning that most spells trade power and precision for speed. In a duel, you don’t have time to shout a three-word-long phrase. So you make up for the lack of training wheels with an effort of will. It’s the same principal by which you cast silently.

Saying a spell out loud isn’t really necessary; like wand movements, it just helps you focus and direct your magic in a certain way. That is, you speak and associate certain words with certain ways of directing your magic, and subconsciously direct your magic a certain way when you speak the word.”

Harry’s brow furrowed as he worked it out and absorbed the information.

“So there’s a longer incantation than _Perculsius?_ ”

“Yes. As with most spells. Speaking the full incantation and focusing on the casting makes spells more powerful. Or at least, has better results. If you’re in a hurry, and you cast a blasting curse in a random direction, it won’t—typically speaking—get the same results as when you cast at a target with clear enunciation and concentration.”

When he saw that Harry understood this, he continued.

“I’m not sure about the full incantation to _Perculsius_. The word itself means ‘shock’ or something similar; I’ll have to look it up. Probably there’s an entire book dedicated to shortened spells and their longer counterparts. Theoretically a paragraph-long spell chant can accomplish much more than a simple spell. That’s one of the reasons why ritual magic is powerful. Well, that, a clear purpose, lots of focus, the blessing of Lady Magic, and a conclave full of wizards contributing magic.”

“Ritual magic?”

Sirius grimaced.

“That’s a few lessons away, kiddo. Let’s get the basics down first. I’ll hunt up a book for you.” He grinned, catching Harry off guard. “You’ve got the same look Lily used to get when she was onto something. She came up with a lot of amazing things in our last few years at Hogwarts, your mum did.”

“Did she leave any notes?” The idea of seeing his mother’s writing made something in his gut twist and roll. Words she penned down—not necessarily talking to _him_ , but something she’d _said_ —the closest thing to hearing her voice he could have without a dementor—more than that, words where she explained and taught him—not just a memory of her but something he could look at over and over…

Did her handwriting look like his? Or did his look more like his dad’s? Was she right handed or left handed? Did she take notes in her textbooks or on spare parchment? Did she doodle on her notes? Dot her I’s with little hearts?

Sirius’ entire expression softened.

“I think she and Jamie both—“Xander made a noise at that, but Sirius paid him no heed, “—left their school textbooks and old stuff in the family vault when they went into hiding. They moved from the manor to a tiny cottage in Godric’s Hollow.”

“We lived in Godric’s Hollow?” Harry resolved then to _never_ stop asking his godfather questions. He remembered the very real pain he’d lived with thinking Sirius was dead. It wasn’t just a _close call_. The first time around, he _had_ died. Harry would have never had this conversation with him, never be able to get answered these questions. Not only would his last _family—_ Xander excluded—have been dead, but one of his parents’ links to the world would have faded too.

“Yes,” Again with the tone of surprise. “Haven’t you been to…”

He trailed off.

“Of course not.”

“Been where?” To the ruins of the house? What would be waiting there for him?

Xander’s hand closed on his shoulder.

“Their graves.” He mumbled, squeezing. Harry blinked.

Of course they had graves. Probably several wizards had been there to pay respects. There must have been a funeral, too. If anybody had remembered them in all their celebrating about the fall of the Voldemort. Harry felt cold rage twinge at the base of his spine and dance to his ribs; he forced the thoughts away.

“No, I haven’t been. I don’t… I’m not sure I’m…” His throat closed off. Not sure he was what? Ready? He made a noise of self derision, bitter and disgusted. But when he spoke, he sounded like a small child looking for reassurance.

His voice was meek.

“D’you think they’d hate me for not wanting to go to their graves? What kind of son am I?”

He looked up at Sirius through dark lashes, chewing on the inside of his cheek. They _died_ for him and here he was, feeling secret thrills at the idea of being _anyone_ ’s son—of the word ‘son’ applying to him and others acknowledging that he did have parents, that they had _wanted him_ —and admitting aloud that the idea of going to their grave scared him.

He wasn’t even sure why.

“Oh, Harry. They could never hate you.” He was abruptly pulled into a hug. _Dad_ , he thought, and felt guilt at first over betraying James Potter’s memory. But a feeling roiled through him, singing _right-yes-father-dad_ and he now knew it was his magic recognizing what was true. James Potter had to have known that magically speaking, making Sirius his godfather would lead to this.

It wasn’t a betrayal.

Harry leaned into what was still an unfamiliar thing. He could count each time he’d been hugged in his life—starting with Hermione first year--without running out of fingers; he could count the number of times he’d been hugged by an adult on one hand.

He felt like Dobby the house elf at thinking it— _bad_ Harry, _bad_ —but wouldn’t his parents have _wanted_ Sirius to raise him, if they died? Wasn’t that the whole point of naming him godfather? They’d wanted Harry to grow up happy with Sirius, call him Dad, and to look to him like a father his entire life. That was the plan.

“I don’t know much about them _at all_ ,” Harry said, voice embarrassingly close to breaking. “I know I shouldn’t complain, at least I’ve seen pictures—and Professor—Remus—told me a little about them in third year. I even got to see them at Hogwarts last year through Snape’s memory. I shouldn’t complain. But every time you say something about them I want to ask you questions for hours, because there’s so, so much I don’t know, and every new thing is like gold to me, I’m sorry.”

He buried his face in Sirius’ shoulder and allowed himself to be held. A scant year ago, Molly Weasley had held him tight and it had been a revelation. He’d been horrified out of his mind with pain and fear from Voldemort’s resurrection, Cedric’s corpse, the faces and voices of his parents come from the wands’ connection.

She had hugged him like a mother, soft and gentle and fierce, protective, something that resonated with what he liked to think of as the remnants of _his_ mother’s sacrifice, the love that Dumbledore claimed protected him even from Voldemort at his most powerful.

Now Sirius hugged him, tight and half-desperate, strong and the opposite of feminine. A father’s hug. How his father might have hugged him if he hadn’t gave his life to save Harry ( _Lily take Harry and run it’s him I’ll hold him off)_. If he closed his eyes and listened to the magic under his skin telling him _Daddy_ , it almost could be.

“Xander is going to obliviate the Durlseys.” Sirius said in his ear, voice steady, if gruff. “Or, better yet, he’s going to potion them. Gonna make them forget they ever had a son or a nephew and give them the strongest urge to move to Australia because they don’t deserve _either of you_. Then I’m going to sit down and tell you every story I can think of about my best friends, starting with how James spazzed out and embarrassed seven generations of Potters the day Lily went into labour with you.”

“I’d like that.” Harry managed. Xander’s hand had yet to leave his shoulder. He reached up and yanked and his cousin got caught in his second group hug in as many days; he didn’t look like he minded.

They stayed like that until Harry felt a tiny but unmistakable jolt sizzle up his spine, straightening his back and alerting him that his potion needed to be tended to.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little short, but necessary. Kind of a slice of life as they decide what they're going to do. Still building up the the Big Event. Looking back on it, I don't think quite enough happened. I'll probably split this day in half and continue in the next chapter OR come back and edit this to have a break and a continuation.   
> I don't have a beta or anything, and I try to proofread to miss any mistakes, so hopefully there aren't too many.  
> Comments as always are appreciated.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mismatched group of squibs, Chosen Ones, and ex-convicts gain a new and unexpected member with minimal bloodshed.
> 
> Sirius Black inadvertently takes the first step on the path of darkness and eternal regret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sirius, having grown up in the House of Black, should know better than to speak evil's name.
> 
> Or:
> 
> Snape gets to do something about his hate-on for Petunia and Sirius makes the mistake of doubting the powers of shadow and darkness.

A lot can happen in a week.

See, that’s not something Harry ever doubted. In a week, he went from being trapped in a cupboard to Diagon Alley. His introduction to magic had been magical and, if not entirely gentle, certainly not a rude awakening.

To say nothing of his years at Hogwarts.

Still, even by his standards, it’s been a crazy week. Xander dropped into his life with messy blonde hair and calculating blue eyes, a smirking tilt to his lips that Dudley never had, and even knowing his cousin his entire life Harry’s hard pressed to note the past and present version as being the same people.

He knows more than anyone that how you carry yourself and how you dress can make you look like an all-new person. It’s just a trifle odd being on the other end of it.

Xander’s casual disruption of his entire life was _welcome_. Knowing that he would have changed his life himself, without prompting, is an even stranger prospect to face, but it’s true; Xander is just speeding up the process.

Severus Snape is sitting across from him and Harry feels tense, uncomfortable, but not afraid. Not necessarily _angry_ , even. After last year—not _even_ a year ago, just several weeks, but Hogwarts makes it so easy to separate his life into seven parts, the sixth of which he’s now beginning-- he would have imagined this scene to be impossible.

“Sirius Black is alive thanks to your time travelling muggle cousin and you want me to make a stupidly complex potion that will mind-wipe Petunia and her oaf of a husband.” Said the professor in question, deadpan.

“That’s about the sum of it.”

There was really no better way to put it.

(Harry had been _dismayed_ to find out their best option was a potion that not even Hermione could brew, it was so far above Newt standards. Master level potions were no joke.

 _Sirius_ had been _delighted_ to find out why Harry had suggested Hermione as a brewing-candidate in the first place. Making Polyjuice in secret, in a bathroom, to sneak into the Slytherin common room—inspired, he had called it, obviously thinking of the book-loving, authority-fearing Gryffindor in a new light.)

“And what do I get out of it?” Snape asked. Harry bristled, forcibly calmed, and responded.

“Well, first off, Sirius and I trying it would probably level London. You’d save a city of millions.”

Snape actually snorted. Harry very consciously didn’t stare.

“Secondly, Petunia is the _scum of the earth_. And I mean that. She’s the actual worst.”

“Way to respect your family, _Potter_.” Snape near-snarls.

“My _family_ is sitting in the other room, thank you very much.” It’s a hard-won fight not to curse. His cousin is a _terrible_ influence. “Family doesn’t starve you, beat you, work you like a house elf.”

“Like a house elf? Surely a few chores—“ And the tone of voice. That one. Harry should have known the peace wouldn’t have lasted. Oh, precious Potter can’t do a few chores without complaining? Of course that’s the piece of his explanation Snape latched on to.

“That house had four bedrooms!” Harry interrupted, furious. This had been a long time coming. “One for my aunt and uncle, one for Dudley, one for his toys, and a guest room. My oldest memory-- that doesn’t come from a fucking dementor-- is the dark and the cold because they made me sleep in the _cupboard under the stairs_.”

“Don’t you talk to me about chores! Chores were the least of it! Pushed down stairs, punished for every single thing that went wrong in that house, magical or not, locked in a tiny, dark room with no food for days on end!” He’s yelling, he realizes distantly, but he can’t stop now. He’s breathing harshly and when did he stand? He’s on his feet now.

“I thought my name was ‘boy’ or ‘freak’ until I hit primary, you utter bastard, because I never heard anything to suggest otherwise. You bitch about what an absolute prick James Potter was to you in school—I’ve heard worse than him being arrogant or spoiled. You wanna hear it? I got slapped everytime I _dared_ as a question of my loving relatives, but it was worth it to know why I was there if they didn’t want me.

‘Your parents were good for nothing drunks who died in a car crash.’ ‘You’re worthless, a waste of space.’ ‘We have to spend money on you that Dudley deserves, freeloader, useless, freak of nature, abomination.’ Don’t you even start on me about how I can’t stand to do some fucking chores, because I did all the chores, or I didn’t eat, period. Don’t you tell me I should respect them because they never, ever respected me! I spent eleven years with them trying to **beat the freak out of me** and didn’t even know I was a goddamn wizard to deserve it, much less some boy-who-lived, or chosen one. I didn’t know I was famous for surviving my parents’ goddamn murder, you sick bastard, how dare you treat me like that in my first potion’s class?”

Things took a turn.

Harry will later admit it.

At the time, though, he’s on a roll. That had been twisted up in him, rage and unfairness and guilt for how he’d been treated as a child; this had been grating on him for five years, much shorter, but as a teen Snape had been a right fucking monster.

Now that he’d gotten started he was hardly going to stop.

“You’re Neville Longbottom’s fucking boggart! Do you even realize what that means? He had his parents tortured to insanity when I lost mine, visits them in the hospital, lives with family who once threw him out a window trying to force magic from him—how _dare_ you terrify an eleven year old whose already gone through so much shite? How do you sleep at night? Eleven, you bastard, you started taking out whatever problems you’ve been keeping bottled up on us when we were _eleven_.

He’s the best in our year at herbology; could probably kick _ass_ at potion if he had a teacher who did more than write the same recipe in our books onto the board and say ‘go.’ You know how many cauldrons he’s blown up because he’s in a room with his _literal worst fear_ and it—you—were breathing down his neck? James Potter may have been a bully, fuck, he could have been the actual worst, I’ve never met him, don’t have _any_ memory of him besides—“ His voice breaks, but he forces himself to say it, this is _important_ , “’ _Lily, it’s him. Take Harry and run. I’ll hold him off_.’ That is _it_. All I have of James Potter, my dad, all I remember him by, all I ever heard, my only clear memory of his voice. And he could have been the actual worst person alive but he was never a grown man torturing eleven year olds to the point where he became their motherfucking _boggart_. Not Bellatrix Lestrange, not a dementor—because _mine’s_ a dementor, I hear my mother _screaming_ if one even gets close, I’d bet Neville hears the same—but _you_.”

He’s standing in Snape’s stunned face, furious, eyes burning with unshed tears.

“So don’t you fucking try to talk to me about respect. I respect Sirius and McGonagall and even Dumbledore, though he’s lied his ass off, left my godfather in jail, left me with child abusers, and tries to play me like a pawn even now. I am capable of respect, but I’m not capable of taking abuse, not from you, not from them, not from anyone. Hogwarts was my first time away from that house and I went back for five summers on Dumbledore’s orders, but I refused to let them hit me after first year, and now I’m refusing to go back at all. So I’m asking you to brew this potion because even though Xander and I aren’t going back, point blank… it would make things a lot easier.”

He sits down, then. Or rather, collapses into a chair, his legs refusing to hold him. He feels _exhausted_ and, while not exactly regretting it, uncomfortable with how much of himself he just exposed in a fit of rage. Justified anger, definitely, but unexpected and reaching deep in him for fuel.

Snape stared at him.

Harry, unable to deal with it, brought his elbows to the table and buried his face in his hands.

Finally, Snape responded.

“Excuse me.” He said in a subdued, almost strangled tone, and swept out of the room. Xander swept into it almost as soon as the yelling started, catching the door before it could shut all the way and closing it softly behind him.

He murmured something that made the hair on Harry’s nape stand straight and the noise beginning to make its way through from the other room dissipated.

Xander sat down across from Harry.

Harry thought of how Dudley used to be vastly overweight before taking up boxing.

“So you’re more muscle than chub now?” He asked, keeping his voice low. There was a roiling, churning vat of negative emotions that he’d just tapped into, that were still stirred up, and he wanted to ignore them until they were buried again.

“Boxing was good to me,” Answered Xander. He was heavyset still, but no longer looked very unhealthy. The exercise he must have gone through was incredible, even taking in the diet. Xander was probably more in shape than Harry, who often dueled, practiced quidditch, and traversed the hundreds of staircases in a giant castle.

He seemed to read his cousin’s mind because a lip quirked up into a now familiar half-smirk.

“You’re feeling like a live wire, right now, yeah?” Asked the blonde, leaning forward conspiringly. “Like you could _hit_ something, like your emotions are alive and boiling under your skin?”

Harry nodded once, jerkily.

“I’ve got just the thing.”

 

By the time Xander had finished putting him through his _paces_ , honestly, what the hell? Martial arts were awful, situps were awful, pushups were awful, over an hour had passed.

They wandered, sweaty and tired, over to the sitting room.

“Where’d Sir Shampoo go?” Xander asked. Kreacher had popped in with towels for them at the opportune moment. Harry’s cousin had it loosely wrapped around his neck like women used to do with small, dead animals a couple centuries back.

“Take your ermine scarf off, first of all.” Snarked Sirius. Harry felt the need to offer a fistbump, but the effort of moving was too great. His limbs ached. “You came back four years, not four hundred.”

Xander bitch-faced at him.

“Second of all, don’t let him hear you call him that. He’s right vicious when crossed. He’s in the lab right now brewing the type of shit that will get him sent to Azkaban if they find out he fed it to a muggle.”

“She’s a squib,” Xander said harshly. “Our entire family are squibs right up to King Fucking Arthur Pendragon. She abused and starved the first magical, male descendant of the Once and Future King. For being magical. The Lady wouldn’t have forgiven her for trying to beat the magic out of an obviously magical child. She wouldn’t forgive knowingly abusing a family member. Harry being   _Harry_ is the icing on the fucking cake because Fate has her hands all up in his business. Petunia is going to suffer regardless of what we do to her, and no one on the Wizengamot can say _shit_.”

Harry stamped down on the remnants of guilt itching down his fingertips.

“Harry,” Sirius says, actually… serious, it seems. His voice was low and sincere. “You _have_ to know that Lily would have never forgiven her sister. She loved Petunia even when Petunia called her a freak and sought to break all ties with her. They could barely talk but still exchanged letters and Christmas presents. And Lily loved you more than anything in the entire universe. It _shone_ in her.

When it should have been hard to imagine the feisty, red-headed, _brilliant_ witch we called Evans settling down right after school to marry James, it wasn’t. It defied all logic but when James grew up sixth year, after your grandparents died, Lily changed too. They _fit_ together. I couldn’t have imagined Lily as a mom growing up but damned if she didn’t rock it like nobody’s business. I’m serious. During her pregnancy she _glowed_ , literally. You were born in a shower of magic.”

Here, he grinned.

“And if you hadn’t have been, she would have loved you just as much, just as… as _righteously._ She loved her sister but when you were born it was like the stars changed, the universe tilted, the ground shook. All of her priorities became second to her bouncing baby boy with James’ hair and her eyes. You meant the _world_ to her, and I mean that. She would have marched into that house, floored Dursley, murdered Petunia, and taken both you and Xander away from there. She would have done it with a beautiful, terrifying rage and joy in her heart. Nothing could have stopped her.”

Harry closed his eyes and enjoyed the mental image.

Enjoyed the thought of being so loved, so, so loved that nothing else came before him. Had he ever had that? Yes, once; when Sirius broke free of Azkaban and a legion of soul-sucking demons.

“So you’re telling me that since my mom would do it, it’s okay?”

“ _Hell_ yes. Lily was always our moral compass. If she thought someone deserved it… she made it clear that she wouldn’t be stopping us or interfering, for once.”

For the first time, Harry considered telling Fred and George Weasley that two of the Marauders lived. One had _taught_ them; they’d die. It had always felt like a secret he should keep, not to hide it from them, but because it was something that connected him to his parents and the idea of sharing it hurt.

“Hey, Xan?” Harry thought out loud. “What were the Weasley twins up to in the future?”

Xander actually _snorted_.

“What _weren’t_ the Weasley twins up to in the future.”

“Ha ha.” Harry rolled his eyes. Point.

“No, in all actuality, they made specialty products at the joke store to help us fight. Have you ever dueled them? It’s murder. Jinxes and spells like _taratangella_ suddenly aren’t so cute any more when a death eater gets hit with it during a fire fight. Distraction and then swift dispatching. It’s awe-inspiring. I’ve seen Fred turn someone’s robes pink, distract them for the perfect second needed for George to cast a severing charm so strong it beheaded him. The twin telepathy thing is terrifying in battle.”

Harry shuddered.

Sirius looked pensive.

“We should recruit them.”

Xander and Harry’s brains simultaneously short-circuited.

“You know not that of which you speak.” Xander managed, once he’d finished choking.

“I can’t say no one deserves that, because Death Eaters,” Harry said. “And I can’t say I wouldn’t wish that upon my worst enemy, because the idea of the twins being set loose on Voldemort warms my heart.”

Xander raised an eyebrow.

Oh, yeah. He’d been making a point.

“But if you put the twins in this house with Severus Snape, I can’t guarantee _any_ of us will live long enough to fight this war.”

“Surely they can’t be that bad?” Sirius protested. It dawned on Harry. When the Weasley twins had been here last summer, they’d had no idea Sirius was a prankster. They treated him like an average adult and, Sirius being distracted by the Order, their true nature was never revealed.

Sirius knew through Molly, probably, that they were pranksters. Maybe Lupin, too. But he didn’t _know_.

Harry pointed one finger at the man who was for all intents and purposes his _dad_.

“ _Watch your mouth_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so, here's the thing. My Harry (at this point) is /really/ not a strong narrator at present. He's, yes, limited by all the things he doesn't know, of course, but moreover he's limited by the fact that he doesn't have ground to stand on. He's shaken up and still reeling from the emotional shock at the end of OotP. He doesn't know what he wants, nor does he have a goal in sight yet. He's not a strong soldier or a leader and he struggled with that in the fifth book. He's not Keira's Sirius-raised badass or her Archmage-from-the-future.  
> He's not, at this point, manned up and taken charge of his own story. He's reacting, not acting, dealing with situations instead of directing them. It has to do with confidence and knowledge and, as Xander pointed out, his give-a-fuck breaking. It hasn't yet. That said, these few chapters-- the fourteen days before the Big Event, and there may be some editing in the future for this rough draft of mine, that sounds rather tacky-- are to help him get that base, that leg to stand on.  
> The idea of transitioning him to a completely different character behind the scenes with no explanation and no point-of-change clearly defined is not something I'm comfortable with. It feels lazy. So bear with me. The tags promise a lot and we're getting there. He's not an adult in charge of himself and his facilities. Don't worry; he'll get there soon.
> 
>  
> 
> One of the deleted scenes from the seventh movie has Petunia being all, "You didn't just lose a mother that night, I lost a sister." And I considered having her redeemed in this. As Keira has occasionally done, among others. There's a really inspiring, long-ass post on tumblr with Petunia being a kickass parent after leaving Vernon. Also, Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality. But I digress. "You didn't just lose a mother, I lost a sister," AND YOU WOULD HAVE LOST AN EYE OR WORSE if Lily lived because you LOCKED HER BABY IN A DARK, COLD CUPBOARD. Jfc. Unless Dumbledore has specific 'be evil to Harry' spells on her or his Horcrux warps them into Coraline-esque, evil-people with dark magic, you cannot justify that to me. Nothing can justify knowingly forcing a child in your care into a dark cramped space as punishment when you have two fucking spare bedrooms, okay. Fight me on this. And we know for a fact that Harry was starved for days on end. Poor baby had to steal food. Nope. I said I wouldn't bash and I'm not bashing. All the characters are three dimensional and have their reasons for doing bad things, but they can still be bad people. And I can still call them on it without bashing. Ergo, villains. And antagonists.  
> The Dursleys were child abusers. To Dudley, too. They don't get a pass. Xander is letting them live, which is all they get.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short, but sweet.

Snape swept into the room with billowing cloak, presented two tiny vials of colorless elixir and handed them to Harry.

“You will _never_ speak to me that way again. Do we have an understanding, Harry Potter?”

Harry nodded dumbly.

Snape looked intensely back before turning away and sweeping back out.

The whole process took ten seconds.

Harry blinked.

“Did that just happen?”

Xander shrugged philosophically before going back to his cereal.

Sirius was laughing in the corner.

 

X

 

Giving the potions to the Durselys was rather anticlimactic, all things considered.

The potion was illegal for a reason.

It destroyed the part of the brain that contained the memories. The more potent the potion, the further back it affected. Snape could brew it very, very strong.

“It’s like getting shot.” Xander found himself muttering, looking down ambivalently. Petunia had crawled over and was gripping his pant leg as she screamed.

Harry looked away from his uncle’s sobbing form. The worst of it was over.

“How?”

“Nobody will be able to give them the memories back. It’s like being shot in the head and surviving. Even if the brain heals, it heals back blank.”

“Didn’t that happen to _Wolverine_?”

Xander looked up. His blue eyes were cold for a few seconds before they softened noticeably.

“Yeah, so?”

Harry snorted.

They stood and waited for the sniveling to stop. Petunia and Vernon looked up with blank expressions and glazed eyes.

“You have no son.” Xander told them, voice without inflection. “You have no nephew. You have no family, at all. You were both abandoned at an orphanage in Australia, where you met and grew up and fell in love. Your names are Helen and Richard Skinner. You’ll take a freighter from Tilbury to Sydney in three hours. You will not leave Australia for the rest of your lives.”

A beat passed. The shadows stretched across the room.

“And you will never have or adopt any children.” Harry added quietly, without looking at either one of them. He didn’t care what happened to them from this point forward, but no child should ever suffer like he and Xander did growing up.

“You’ll donate every spare cent you earn to charity,” continued Harry, still looking away. “You’ll do volunteer work in your free time without complaining. What you don’t eat, you’ll give away.”

“So mote it be.” Xander said, in a tone of finality. 

“So mote it be.” Harry echoed.

The magic linking them snapped. Only the cousins could implement suggestions once their blood had been added to the potion.

It was amazing, Harry reflected, what a few drops of blood could do.

They turned and left, catching the ‘Bus from a few blocks away for the final time. Harry had expected to feel—well, something. Relieved or vindicated at leaving them forever.

Joy had always sang in his heart at the end of the summer.

“I don’t care about them,” He said, startling himself and Xander. “I’m just—I’m done. They could die tomorrow and I wouldn’t bat an eyelash. They could live into their hundreds and it wouldn’t affect me at all.”

Xander smiled at him.

“You’re _free_ of them, little cousin.” He pointed out.

And Harry was.

He had been raised at Number 4, Private Drive and despite going to Hogwarts and disappearing into the magical world for nine months out of the year, he had always had to come _back_.

His relatives’ house had always loomed, dark and foreboding, on the timeline.

Now the chains were released. He was _free_.

Was this how Dobby felt all those years ago?

He had a future and Petunia and Vernon Dursley were nowhere in it. He’d never step foot in a house where he was once locked in a boot cupboard and starved.

If he wanted, he could never again step foot in a house where he couldn’t do _magic_.

(This was _exactly_ how Dobby must have felt).

He couldn’t get the stupid grin off his face as he turned to his cousin.

“We can do _whatever we want_.” He enthused.

Xander snorted.

“After we murder that daft sunuvabitch who murdered my Aunt and Uncle before I could ever meet them, sure. We’re going to tell _everyone_ to kiss our arses.”

Harry laughed. It was good to be free.


End file.
